//------------------------------// // Wherein There is a Road Trip // Story: Wonderbolt Down // by Rebonack //------------------------------// Clear skies above. Farmland and the occasional sprawling urban landscape below. It's strange how someone can begin growing accustomed to things. What's the word? Habituated? I think that's right. Flying is still amazing, don't get me wrong. There's still a sense of beautiful awe at the symphony of the skies. But right now shoving the Cloudmobile across the heavens without Surprise to keep us in high spirits? It feels like drudgery. Sacramento is still some distance off, merely a smoggy blur on the horizon. And we're a bit slow going with only three sets of wings propelling the Cloudmobile along rather than four. Sure it's a cloud, but that much water is heavy. Especially as dense as it is. I won't pretend to understand the magic and physics behind how such an object can stay aloft, but I'm not about to complain. After lugging around an earth pony for a few hours by my own strength alone I can firmly say that I don't want to do it again. “Do you think Surprise is going to be alright?” Silver asks. “And the other ponies?” Dust gives a lackadaisical shrug. “I dunno. I hope so. That mare is impossible to figure out. But she's got to have a plan of some kind. She probably just wanted those creeps to think she was clueless. I'll bet she's busting all those ponies out right now.” I open my beak to make a contribution to the conversation when a rather unusual feeling begins nagging at the back of my mind. My pressure sense is alerting me to several somethings getting closer to us at an alarming rate. I crane my neck and focus my vision to get an idea of what we're dealing with. When I spot the source of the pressure wave my blood runs cold. The glint of paint and metal and exhaust catches my eye. That's certainly no friendly pegasus flying toward us. That's a- “Missile! Everypony scatter!” I shriek even as I'm diving away from the Cloudmobile. Thankfully Dust and Silver both have the good sense to react rather than asking stupid questions. It's only a matter of seconds later when the rocket slams into the side of the Cloudmobile and detonates, sending fragments of rapidly evaporating miststone hurtling through the air. So much for our ride. Though we soon have much bigger problems to worry about. The three of us have already put considerable distance between each other and that space is only growing. I can hear Silver shouting over the head-set to split up and hide. I can hear the crackle of Dust's contrail fading as she zooms away at top speed. And I can feel the aircraft that have decided to give chase to us. Judging from the size the thing must be an attack drone. Well then, let's see if it can keep up with a Wonderbolt. I angle myself toward the distant sea, dip my nose earthward, and drop into a dive. There are three of the machines that I can feel in the sky. One for each of my friends of course. I'm not sure how good of an idea it is to split up the team even further but at the very least this will make it harder to find all of us. Magic begins to build and churn as I rapidly accelerate toward the speed of sound. A sonic boom was well in my abilities back in Equestria, but I needed to surf one of those giant pressure waves in order to pull off speeds like that. And unfortunately I can't seem to recall exactly how I had caused such a spectacular magical effect. That leaves me going fast, but sub-sonic. With luck the drone is one of those propeller driven models and I'll simply be able to out-pace it. Maybe. The missile that suddenly looms in my pressure sense serves to remind me that rockets aren't something I can fly faster than regardless of the model of drone. Certainly faster than me, but I have one very important edge over the cutting edge of human military hardware. I can break physics. Missiles can't. With an intense burst of magic I twist myself in mid-air and alter my course by forty five degrees within the space of a few feet and level out a mere stone's throw above the ground. I'm already racing away just above fields of soy beans while the missile stalls out and crashes into the ground. Huh. No explosion. I suppose they had the good sense to prevent the explosives from detonating too close to the ground. That's good news for me. So long as I fly low I won't get shot at. But I will get spied on. I'll have to do something about the drone so it can't track me. I angle myself back toward the sky and rise like a rocket shooting for the moon. The propeller drone begins banking awkwardly to avoid me, but it has nothing on a Wonderbolt when it comes to aerial maneuverability. As I fly in closer I can feel the wind from its prop picking up and my headset is launched away into a tumbling free-fall. Buck. No way that thing is going to survive a fall from a few thousand feet. Ah well, no time to cry over spilled milk. I position myself above the drone and and begin feeding magic into my lungs. I had considered pouncing on it like a hawk on a sparrow, but I would hate to see what would happen to my tail if it got caught in the drone's prop. Once I feel the magic in my chest roiling like a bottled thunderstorm I loose a bone shattering roar at the tail-end of the aircraft. The force of the pressure wave is enough to completely mangle the back end of the drone and it drops into a quite uncontrolled landing. A crash? I can't help but wince when the aircraft slams into the ground in some poor bystander’s field. Yeah, that was definitely a crash. It occurs to me that sticking around to see what happens next is probably an unwise plan. I give my wings a pump and speed off as fast as they can take me. After all the work outs we've been getting shoving the Cloudmobile around it's almost shocking just how much stronger my wings have grown. On our first day we had to take fairly frequent breaks atop the fog after flying. Now? Now I feel like I could fly for hours without issue. I'll probably need to be a bit more conservative with my magic, though. Just a nudge here and there to keep my speed up and to counter-act gravity's pull. The thought of running myself out of magic is nothing short of terrifying. These wings couldn't possibly keep me in the air if my magic wasn't holding me up. If I ran dry it's a long way down. Thankfully I knew what the 'running on empty' feeling was like and I would be able to touch down somewhere and rest long before then. As I shot out over the sea my eyes set on a pebbly beach. Good a place as any to rest for a bit. So out of the sky I drop, beating my wings furiously as I near the ground to kill my speed. A flock of sea birds spot me descending and take to the skies in a squawking, squabbling panic. Bits of rock and grit are sent tumbling through the air in a eye-stinging cloud around me until at last I touch down and fold my wings. Warm sun. Warm sand. Cool breeze. The adrenalin finally wears off and the fatigue hits me. The understand of what just happened hits me right after that. I flop down on my side in the fine gravel and begin shaking. Before I know it tears are wetting fur and sand alike. Surprise is gone. Silver and Dust are gone. I don't know if any of them are even alive. Ponies are being kidnapped and shipped away to God-knows-where. There are monsters lurking around in secluded areas for no good reason. I have no idea where I am. And the government of my home country just tried to kill me with a missile a few seconds before I shot down a UAV with a magical thunder roar. I thought everything was going pretty well, all things considered. And then life decided that today was the day to pull the rug out from under Geneva's hooves. After careful consideration I decide to lay there in the sand for a while and stare at the ocean. That's a good plan. Don't move. Don't think. Just lay around in a miserable heap of fur and feathers whilst listening to the waves rolling across the pebbles. Every now and again some sea birds soar over head. A few of them are circling now, dropping back down to the beach to continue their all consuming quest to shove their comically long beaks into the sand in search of invertebrates. The birds begin to call to each other. It's a soothing sound. Just the wind and the surf and the birds. And the occasional car zooming along the road somewhere behind me. Buck. Someone will probably spot me if I stay here very long. But that doesn't matter so much, does it? So what if a human spots me? I can bet on them getting frightened or trying to chat. Maybe taking a picture. Who knows? If I weave a sob story they might even give me some food and a ride in their car. Pony cuteness is a powerful asset after all. We must have been tracked via radar. In retrospect it shouldn't come as a shock. We were flying around in an aircraft sized cloud chariot. It can't be a coincidence that we got into trouble as soon as Surprise wasn't sitting around with us being all Surprise-like. But if I manage to bum a ride? If I'm going for a ride then I don't have to worry so much about radar provided my kindly driver decides to obey the speed limit. I can hear a stream not too far away. In fact, if I move my head just a little I can see it. My throat is complaining about dryness, but I'm not sure if I can really muster the will right now to actually stand up and walk over there. And I think I just heard a car door close. Maybe if I just sit really still they'll assume I'm dead. Between sound and pressure I can tell they're getting closer. Two of them I think? One has heavier foot-falls than the other. “Is it dead, dad?” asks the first voice. Male, young. Probably early teens at most I would guess. “I'm not sure. Don't get too close, it might bite,” the second voice said. Older, deeper. Clearly the dad in question. I decided to hold still. Speak up once they get close. Maybe I could try to sound groggy? I feel groggy right now. More from emotional turmoil than anything else. It isn't every day that someone tries to make you explode. Twice. “It doesn't look like it's bleeding,” the elder says, caution clear in his tone. “I can see it breathing though. “What is it, though?” asks the younger. “It's got hooves and wings and stuff.” What a perfect plan. I can see it now. Injured adorable hippogriff asking for help. Clearly they must be compassionate to begin with if they were willing to stop and check on a potentially injured animal. But then I see it. The flaw that could very well destroy my plan utterly. A crab. A crab climbing out of a hole in the sand and side-stepping toward my tail. I narrow my eyes at the crustacean and whisper, “Don't you dare.” The crab looks back at me with its dead, emotionless eyes and I already know the answer. This crab so totally dares. It clamps its claws down on my tail. There must have been some kind of covert agreement between crustacean and treacherous limb. My tail is still trying to get me killed. I react by leaping to my feet, giving a pained squawk, and flipping my tail around until I manage to flick the menacing crab away. The crustacean goes tumbling through the air and lands on its back, legs scrabbling uselessly at the sky. Eventually the tiny demon-beast rights itself and skitters back into its burrow. If it were possible for a hippogriff to cause something to burst into flames through sheer force of will I would probably be having roast crab for dinner right now. “Woah! It's a griffin!” the younger exclaims with no lack of wonder and excitement. “Stay behind me! It might attack. Injured animals can be dangerous,” the elder commands. It sounds like he's shifted into parent protecting child mode. That'll make things a lot harder. Thanks a ton, universe. That 'life still hates you!' crab was exactly what I needed. “I won't hurt you, I promise,” I say whilst slowly turning around. No quick movements. After all, prey animals get very skittish when they feel like they're in danger. Unless they're a hippo. Hippos just murder someone and said person's whole extended family if they feel threatened. Though I suppose hippos really don't count as prey animals. Everything with any sense leaves them alone. “Why's she spacing out like that?” The boy's comment manages to snap me back to reality. “Sorry, I was just thinking. About hippopotamus. Eerr, thank you for coming out here to make sure I wasn't dead or injured,” I reply sheepishly. For good measure I sit down on my haunches in the sand. Sitting looks less threatening than standing when you're built like an apex predator. The father still looks cautious. The son looks increasingly excited by the moment. “Are you really a griffin?” the boy asks. “Hippogriff,” I correct automatically. Then quickly follow up with a kind smile. “Half griffin and half pegasus. My name is Geneva Pressure Front. I'm pleased to meet you both.” “Jacob Smith...” the father mutters absently. “I'm Aiden!” the boy quickly replies. If not for his father holding an arm out he would have probably already jumped on me already. “Can you really fly? Can you take me for a ride?” Ah the enthusiasm of children. “You are not going for a ride,” the father insists. Ah the enthusiasm of children crushed by parental veto. “I can really fly. I'm a bit tired right now, though. And I haven't ever given someone a ride before, so I'll have to say no to that idea. I would hate to drop you by accident,” I reply sympathetically. I take a deep breath and continue. “I know this might be asking a bit much, but I'm traveling south along the coast and I'm absolutely exhausted. If you could find it in your hearts to help me I would be tremendously grateful.” For good measure I give them my best puppy-eyes. I swear puppy-eyes from an Equestrian most throw some kind of empathy switch in the human brain. I honestly don't think I've ever seen a child smile so widely before. He turns to his father with a look of absolute and child-like hope. The sort of hope that someone would have to be a monster to crush. “Can we dad, please? There's lots of room in the van! She's so cool! Just look at her!” Jacob looks up at me from his son. I puff out my chest, raise my chin, and flare my wings slightly to lend credence to Aiden's assessment of my coolness. The man gives a drawn out sigh. “I hope I'm not going to regret this... We're going as far as Santa Cruz. You can ride with us if you like.” My goodness what a relief. This act of kindness was very possibly saving my life. “Thank you. I don't really have anything valuable to repay you with. I'm from out of town and traveling light. And I promise I won't throw up on your upholstery.” As soon as the father's arm moves Aiden is practically crawling on top of me. The boy begins fingering through my feathers. It's kind of ticklish, but a small price to pay for the ride. “This is so cool! Are you like an alien from another dimension where mythological animals are real, Geneva?” I can't help but laugh at that guess while I stumble along through the sand and up the trail toward the road. “Universe, not dimension. A dimension is a degree of freedom. But yeah, something like that. I'm a long way from home. I'm just something of a weary stranger in a strange-oof!” Seems Aiden believes that a pony ride is absolutely required at the moment. If I had been less exhausted I probably would have noticed him readying himself to leap onto my back. Thank God it's my wings that are fatigued instead of my legs, otherwise I probably would have collapsed under him. Thankfully he's lighter than Sea Grass was. “Ah, I'm not going to make you get off. Please just don't wriggle around or-gawk!” I squawk as I feel his heels dig into my ribs. “Or kick me with your heels. I'm not a horse. I'm not going to giddyup.” “Hehe, sorry!” Aiden giggles. It's difficult to stay mad at him. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes and clop my way up the path. “Just wait until you meet my brothers and sisters!” Brothers and sisters? As in plural brothers and sisters? Oh dear. What have you gotten yourself into, Geneva? The trail is blessedly short and the road seems to be out of the way enough that traffic isn't zooming back and forth for all to gawk at me. I'm met with the sight of not a mini-van, but a full sized van-van. A full sized with a frazzled mother pacing around in front of it and not one, not two, not three, not four, but five rambunctious children bouncing off the walls. Like any energetic gas the currently unrestrained children had quickly expanded to fill their container. The mother freezes when she sees me with her eldest son riding on my back. Jacob motions for her to stay calm. Aiden waves cheerfully. I offer a smile whilst keeping my beak closed to avoid showing any teeth. “What... What is that thing?” the mother asks. “Is it safe? “Everything is fine, Beth,” Jacob says reassuringly. “This is, ah, Geneva Pressure Front. She's going to be riding with us to Santa Cruz.” “She's a hippogriff alien from another dimension where mythological animals are real!” Aiden adds with the sort of enthusiasm possible only in a ten year old. Half a glance back at him and it suddenly registers in my brain that he's wearing a shirt printed with a popular modern cartoon set in a hodge-podge world of mythology. Heh. I suppose that explains his excitement over me. “You don't need to worry about me, ma'am. I won't be any trouble at all,” I say whilst stooping down so Aiden can climb off my back. He seems rather disappointed that the ride is over. “It can talk!” Beth exclaims, pointing a finger at me in bewilderment. I give my feathers a ruffle. “She can talk. Being called an 'it' is somewhat demeaning. But no harm done. I would probably be surprised that I could talk if I met me as well.” “Of... of course. Nice to meet you, Geneva...” Beth mutters. She turns to her husband and the two of them begin a heated discussion. I give her a polite incline of the head and climb into the back of the van with Aiden whereupon I'm immediately beset upon by a swarm of children ages four to ten. “She looks pretty!” “She looks scary...” “Can she really fly?” “Where did she come from?” “Are you coming with us to grandma's house?” “Her name's Geneva!” “I, umm...” I stutter, my ear twitching slightly as I struggle through the bedlam I'm met with. Before I can even reply several new salvos of questions have already been launched at me. A bit of quick thinking later I lay down on the floor between the sets of seats and declare, “You can pet me if you like. Just be gentle and don't pull my hair, please.” This idea is either brilliant or suicidal. There are now six sets of sticky child-fingers running through my fur, feathers, and mane. Without question I'm going to need a grooming of epic proportions when this is all said and done. The sort of legendary grooming sung about in the mead halls late at night by silver tongued minstrels. Alright, that's probably exaggerating. Just a bath will do. But still... “Can we braid your mane?” one of the older girls pleads. Looking into her eyes I can already feel my resolve melting. “I... suppose so? Just remember that it goes all the way down my neck. I don't think a normal braid would really work,” I relent. Two squeals of delight later I have a seven and eight year old braiding my mane. “What's that picture on your butt for?” another child asks. Several of his siblings variously instruct him not to say butt, inform his mother than he said butt, and laugh at the fact that he said butt. “That's my cutie mark,” I reply. “It represents my special talent in air pressure magic.” There are wide eyes at that. “You can use magic?” one of the girls asks breathlessly. “Mm, it's how I can fly. My magic isn't very spectacular or showy. And I've been using it quite a bit today and so I'm quite tired. I'm afraid I don't have much to show you,” I admit apologetically. There's a chorus of disappointed sounds at this revelation. “Hey. Umm, miss Geneva?” one of you younger boys asks after getting my attention with liberal poking. “Do you have claws and stuff?” I look down at my talons. At present they resemble finger nails more than anything else. Just black and a bit hooked. Though should I flex them they would of course pop out to full length. “Yes. I can retract them like a cat. No reason to have them sticking out all the time, right?” “Can I see them?” the boy asks eagerly. Several of his siblings voice their agreement. “Ah... No, I don't think that's a good idea. They're really sharp and so they stay put away unless I need them,” I explain. “Have you ever used them to fight other monsters?” Aiden inquires. “I'm not a monster,” I say with resolute firmness. “I'm a person just like anyone else. I'm just not a human person. I have fought with monsters before, though. Would you like to hear about the time my friends and I destroyed a wolf timber and saved the day?” The children make it abundantly clear that they wish to hear this story. And so I tell it to them. By the time the story is finished the Smith family is well on their way toward Santa Cruz and my mane is well on its way to having three long braids in it. Mrs. Smith was quite nervous around me at first, but I think she's warming up to me. Especially since my presence in the back of the van has given the children something to focus on other than fighting and arguing with each other. Having something fuzzy to pet helps calm the nerves. And there's no substitute for an honest-to-God Equestrian for promoting harmony among a group of people. “Where are the rest of your friends?” the eldest girl (Sophie? Tons of names to remember) asks. “Surprise sounds really funny.” “I'm not sure where my friends are,” I sigh. “We were separated today by... some more monsters. That's why I was so tired. I had to fly really fast. I'm sure it didn't follow me, though.” Mostly because I shot it down with a magical pressure-wave. “How fast did you fly?” Aiden asks. Geeze these kids never run out of questions. I give a short whistle as I think. How fast was I flying? That's actually pretty easy to figure out. I can feel how fast the wind is blowing when I'm stationary. Then just relate that to the turbulence I encounter in flight. “A little over five hundred miles and hour, I think. Lightning Dust and Rainbow Dash are both way faster than I am, though.” And so on and so on. Petting, braiding, asking questions. Eventually the novelty of having a hippogriff in the van wares off and the children begin quarreling with each other whilst I lay on the floor with my ears pressing tight against my head. I can understand why their mother looked so frayed when I first saw her. Who knows how long they had been driving before they found me and I became a convenient distraction for the munchkins. The constant jostling is starting to get to my stomach and I had already promised Mr. Smith that I wouldn't throw up in his car. The gurgling and bouncing and constant noise is just getting to be too much. And so to save everyone within projectile vomiting range I sit up so I can see out the windows. My view? A tunnel. We're driving through a tunnel of some significant length and several of the children are holding their breath to see if they can make it all the way through without taking another. Heh. I know exactly where we are now. The Golden Gate bride is right around the corner. I turn my attention toward the vehicle next to us and catch the eye of a child sitting in the back seat. He watches me intently for a few moments and then look down at the portable video game in his hands. Kids for you. Always focusing on the highest priorities. In just a few minutes we're driving through the final few scrubby hills and at last the Golden Gate bridge looms in front of us with San Francisco beyond. I'm ignored for the most part by other drivers, but every now and again a passenger spots me. I'm given either a look of confusion or excitement by each. It's been four days since we hit full-pony and without a doubt word about us must be spreading. That should make appearances a pleasant surprise for some humans rather than a startling or unexpected one. Before long the quarreling is replaced with tumultuous cries of hunger and desperate need to go to the bathroom. Frankly after any length of time trapped in a small enclosed space with this many children a chance to move around and stretch my wings is a welcome prospect. In anticipation of our eventual pit stop I speak up so Mr. and Mrs. Smith can hear me clearly. “I'm not worried about being seen in public. There are plenty of Equestrians popping up and it's only a matter of time before we're common knowledge.” Or at least that's my hope that humans will use their phones to take pictures of me instead of calling the police or animal control. “Okay kids, where do you want to eat?” Mrs. Smith asks. There's quite the chorus of replies, but McDonald's predominates. Of course it does. It takes us all of a few minutes to find one and pull into its parking lot. I'm sure my pony friends would be petrified of even the prospect of setting hoof inside a place like this, but given my omnivore status I think I'll survive eating meat. Eating meat from McDonald's, though? That remains to be seen. I climb out of the van and give myself a good shake to dislodge the worst of the dust and debris clinging to my coat. Next up I spread my wings and give them a few solid flaps, rising a foot or two off the ground whilst doing so. Back to the ground I drop, refold my wings, and give them a solid fluffing. That should put them in order for now. I glance back at the swarm of foals, eerr, children and offer a kind smile. “Anyone want to hold onto my wings while we walk in?” I ask. In a flash the two young girls who had braided my mane are clinging to me. Success! Mr. and Mrs. Smith corral the remaining four children and I fall in step behind them. Between the adorable appearance of Equestrians and the fact that I have two little girls hanging onto me whilst fiddling with my mane I doubt anyone would peg me as a potential threat. Our first encounter is a young couple who holds the door open for the Smiths. They booth boggle at me as I walk past and I offer a polite smile. “Lovely weather we're having today?” Both of their heads slowly turn as I walk past. At least they aren't screaming, right? Once the Smith family and I are in the restaurant proper I catch some interesting attention right away. First up? One of the poor over-worked and under-paid employes behind the counter catches a glimpse of me behind all the humans. “Uh, sorry. But dogs aren't allowed in here. Your pet will have to stay outside,” he says. I don't even have to reply. Aiden does for me. “She's not our pet, she's our friend,” the boy states emphatically. “And she's not a dog, she's a hippogriff.” I give my wings a twitch to convince the girls to release them and then stand up on my hind legs with my wings slightly unfurled. Standing on hooves alone is pretty awkward, but I can manage it for a while. “True enough. No pets, just fellow sapient beings.” The young man stares at me, gaping like a fish. By now customers and employees alike are starting to notice me. Excited whispers begin passing back and forth between the occupants of the humble fast-food joint. “Holy crap they're real!” “Is she one of those pony things?” “I heard they were aliens.” “Is it dangerous?” “There were little girls braiding her hair. She doesn't seem dangerous to me.” The fellow behind the counter finally finds his voice and stammers out, “I, uh, I don't think we serve mythical animals here.” “That's alright, I'll eat mundane ones too,” I chirp back. It takes him a few moments to process that. “I mean we only sell food to people here.” “I'm pretty sure I still count as a person,” I point out. Much to my relief the manager seems to have been summoned from somewhere and she is a bit more accommodating than the gobsmacked youth. “I saw the video,” the manager says with a grin wide enough for two people. Then she holds out a fist toward me. I'm a bit confused by the gesture I must amit. Eventually something in my brain clicks and I provide her with a fist-bump. “Bro-hoof. Or close enough! We're pleased to serve any peaceful Equestrian refugees here. Now, can I take your order?” Thus orders are made and trips to the bathroom enforced. I visit the little filly's room myself if only to wash my hands. Walking around on just my hooves is pretty awkward and I know it'll get uncomfortable in a hurry, but it beats using my hands to walk on this floor and then eating with them. I might be resistant to terrestrial diseases, but a hippogriff still has to have standards. The meal is... surprisingly normal. I get plenty of requests for pictures and even more pictures made without permission. Honestly I don't mind. The more evidence there is that Equestrians walk the Earth and that we're just like anyone else the better. I think my favorite part is when a new family arrives in the restaurant and does a double-take when they spot me. For my part I just give a polite wave. The food is, well, it's fast food. Which is to say that it might have been meat at some point in the past and it's at least vaguely edible. I scarf the thing down and free myself up and pose with a gaggle of humans. Because who wouldn't want to get their picture taken with a Wonderbolt? Once the photo-ops are done and the greasy food is gone we pile back into the van and begin weaving our way through San Francisco and down the coast. The trip is a bit nerve wracking. What with the poking and the arguing and the youngest member of the Smith family spilling their soda all over me. There's nothing quite like the feeling of fizzy, syrupy beverage running through one's feathers. I don't think I've ever longed so desperately for a bath and a good grooming before. The end of my ride with the Smith's came soon enough. They had been kind to me. Wonderfully kind, there's no doubt. But one can only take so much direct attention from a swarm of children before they start to wear down. And I'm certainly no exception to that rule. Once the van was off the main highway the Smith's pulled over and let me disembark. I did my best to look cheerful despite the sticky soda filmy clinging to me. “Thank you for giving me the ride. It was a little hectic, but I enjoyed it,” I say with the biggest smile I can manage. Technically true. I did enjoy it. I tried my hardest to enjoy it. But my nerves still feel a little frayed from the noise. I don't think my sensitive ears are made for that kind of abuse. “Thank you for riding with us, Geneva. You made it a lot of fun for the kids,” Mrs. Smith replies. “It was a real adventure. I hope you can find your friends again.” I give a slow nod. “Yeah. I'm sure they'll all be fine. I'll just need to find a way to contact them. Goodbye! Enjoy the rest of your trip!” A chorus of goodbyes fill the air, the van's engine start, and the family who very possibly saved my life rolls away. Heh. An adventure alright. A few more vehicles are already beginning to pull over at the side of the road to take some pictures so I strut my stuff a bit for them. Can't leave Wonderbolt fans feeling ignored now, can I? The day's getting late, though, and I still have my destination to reach. I spread my wings and launch myself toward the southern sky. The food and the rest feels like it did me wonders. Magical exhaustion is still looming, but now it's a distant specter rather than impending doom hovering just over my shoulder. I don't bother pushing myself to such extreme speeds this time as I swoop low over the rolling waves of the pacific. I don't have any remote control killbots hot on my tail and so there's no reason to burn the sort of magic required to push myself into the hundreds of miles and hour range. After all, my destination isn't too much further and I can take a straight shot at it over Monterey Bay rather than mucking about with roads and land and coastlines. The view is nothing short of spectacular. The sun is beginning to set over the sea to the west casting the sky into a vibrant splash of pinks and oranges. Low hanging light glitters across the waves like a trail of radiance one could almost imagine walking on clean to the horizon. I can see the kelp forests of the bay swaying in the currents and can't help but wonder if anyone got turned into a sea-horse. Are sea-horses even a thing in My Little Pony? I'll have to look into that. Lighthouse point is rapidly growing closer and I can make out the sea lions lounging around on the rocks. When the wind changes I gag and nearly drop out of the sky. Dear sweet God that stink! How could anything that lives in the water smell that bad? I quickly adjust my course and give the putrid pinnipeds plenty of personal space. Because wow. Just wow. That is vile. Turns out finding a familiar place from above is kind of tricky. Land marks don't look quite the same from the sky and so I decide to be a little more up front. Once I'm sure I've gotten close I simply land and start reading street signs. By now dusk has set in nicely and the streets are mostly deserted save for a few people out for a walk in the cool spring air. The sound of horse-shoes on pavement catches curiosity quite well and eyes soon follow. Before long I have a human gawking at me. I cross over to the other side of the road so she won't have to get too close to me. Always a good idea to be gentle around prey animals that you don't want to spook. “Hello!” I call out with a wave of a wing. “Great evening for a walk, isn't it?” The woman works her mouth open and closed as she watches me trot past. It'll be really nice once Equestrians are greeted with the same warmth and acceptance of anyone else. For now I'll just have to do my best to encourage that kindly fellowship as best I can. I'm not just representing myself after all. I'm serving as the first impression many humans are having of Equestrians. A perfect excuse to be the greatest exemplar of friendship that I can manage. Then I see it. Just another house. But all the other houses don't make my heart begin fluttering in my chest and anxiety knot in my stomach. I take in a deep breath and slowly exhale through my nose. Here goes nothing. I trot around the fence and up the walk way, my hooves crunching in the gravel. I can smell the fragrance of the garden already, the scent of the same flowers I knew so well as a child. It's strange how an aroma can call back memories of happy days gone by. I pause for a time to smell the roses. It's... nice. "No more stalling, Geneva," I mutter as I trot up to the door. I sit down on my haunches, ring the doorbell, and wait. “I'm coming, I'm coming,” I hear an elderly male human grumbling from beyond the door, my ears swiveling to try to pinpoint him. “Are you expecting visitors tonight, honey?” Another voice from deeper in the home calls back that no, she isn't expecting any visitors. The knots in my stomach pull tighter as the edges of my vision begin to fuzz with tears. Then the door opens. Behind it stands a balding human in his sixties who appears rather surprised to see me. His first reaction is one of fear, taking a pace back instinctively at the sight of an apex predator on his front step. But then the gears in his brain begin turning. “God almighty...” he mutters. “You... Are you...?” He leaves the question hanging in the cool dusk air. I smile and give a delicate nod. “Hi dad.”